Eye of the Beholder
by lorelei173
Summary: After Voldemort's fall, Hermione is trying to live a normal life. When Ginny signs her up for an evening art class, Hermione uncovers more than a previously unknown talent for drawing. Sometimes, what you don't see is more important than what you do see.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Eye of the Beholder**

**Author note: Written pre-DH and does not in any way, shape or form take DH into account**

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JKR. **

**Chapter 1**

"Are you ready yet?" Ginny called from the doorway of Hermione's office.

"Just a second," Hermione responded, not looking up from the book that held her focus. "Just let me finish this, I'll be right with you." She grabbed a quill and began writing furiously, her eyes darting between the book and the parchment on which she wrote.

With a sigh, Ginny rolled her eyes, walked over and closed the book.

"Hey, I just needed another moment!" Hermione protested, though her eyes had already gone soft in a conciliatory look.

"That's what you said half an hour ago." Ginny admonished her, but smiled in return. "We'll be late."

"What was it again that we're doing tonight?" Hermione donned her robes and with Ginny in front exited her office at the Ministry of Magic.

"Something you've never done before," Ginny taunted, "something that will force you to look for the beauty in life and in the world around you." She smiled mischievously. "Something that if you do it right will not be an utter waste of time." A short laugh escaped her lips.

"And what would that be, pray tell?" Hermione had suffered through countless attempts by the surviving Weasleys to help her overcome the loss of Ron shortly after seventh year ended. She'd lost the love of her life but the Weasleys had insisted she stay in touch. In fact, she'd grown closer to all of them than she'd been when she and Ron had briefly dated in the days when Voldemort had terrorised wizard Britain.

"You'll see when we get there."

"Ginny! If you've set me up on another blind date…"

Ginny turned to her. "Would I do such a thing?" She pointed to herself. "Sweet little innocent me?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"All right, so maybe I would." She countered Hermione's startled look of concern with a raised hand, "But not this time."

"So where are we going?" Hermione trusted Ginny, but the need to know everything yesterday was still a part of Hermione's personality. The two young women walked side by side engaged in amiable conversation for a short distance. Finally, they reached Diagon Alley and entered. "Will you finally tell me what this is all about?" She looked at the building to which Ginny had led them. She could not tell what its purpose was, but marvelled at the paintings on the wall. They were wizard paintings and moved.

Ginny led her down a hallway and opened a door, motioning with her head for Hermione to enter. Ginny followed close behind. Both young women looked at the small group of witches congregated at one end of the room. Hermione took in the subdued lighting, a raised dais of some sort at one end, sets of what appeared to be something resembling sketch pencils and a number of easels. Hermione looked wide-eyed at Ginny. "Welcome to your first art class!" Ginny smirked.

"Art class?" Hermione could not believe her ears. "You signed me up for an art class? You know I can't draw anything."

"That's why you need the class." Ginny had started picking through the drawing utensils.

Hermione sat down, looked around and grabbed a pencil-like implement and scribbled a bit of nothingness on the canvas in front of her. She shook her hand laughing a bit. "This is madness. I guess I can spend an evening drawing a bowl of fruit, but I'm not making any promises you'll be able to tell what kinds of fruit are in the bowl!"

Ginny's smirk grew a little bigger. "Oh, did I forget to tell you? It's not fruit we'll be drawing." She met Hermione's questioning look head on. "It's wizards…naked ones."

"Attention class, welcome to Wizard Drawing 1," a voice sounded leaving Hermione no chance to respond to Ginny, "a class in which we will learn the basics of capturing form on canvas. Some of you will have a natural aptitude for wizard drawing while others will find they can capture only the rough form, but not the essence, and without the essence, well…there isn't much else."

"She sounds just like Trelawney," Hermione whispered to Ginny. Ginny paid no attention. She was eying the spot where the model would stand and praying that he'd have a nice physique. She'd heard many did, though not all. One wizard model in particular had been fervently commented upon by several witches she knew who had taken the class the previous time it had been offered. She hoped it would be him.

The instructor, a small witch with black hair, had continued on unabated. "Please select a drawing wand. Now, you will notice that a drawing wand is much like a regular wand, though a bit smaller. It functions much the same, but it feeds on emotion. There are several at each easel because the magical cores much be a reasonable match for your own magical energies for any real art to be produced. Try the drawing wands and find the one that feels right." A voice asked how they would know, followed immediately by a loud crackle and a puff of smoke that filled the air with an acrid smell. "You'll know." The class giggled and the witch holding the smoking drawing wand replaced it and tried another that seemed to suit her magical energy much better.

Hermione picked up a drawing wand and examined it, amazed that she could feel a slight undercurrent of energy that was completely unlike what she felt with her wand. Her mind began to question the science behind how it all worked. She tried another, but the wand quickly felt unpleasantly hot. The third hummed…not audibly, it was hard to describe. It was as if the humming originated within her, but with a sense that real power was there. Hermione had seen enough of the magic world to believe what she sensed and to accept it. 'Maybe this won't be like Trelawney's class' she mused inwardly. The humming had grown stronger in her ears, but did not block any of the other sounds in the class.

"If you hear a humming inside your head, it means you've found a suitable wand. Now, what I need you to do is get in touch with that humming and the power behind it. Let the raw emotion lead your hand to reproduce what your eyes see. Your eyes will see only the physical form. Your inner eye, if you will, guides the drawing wand and if successfully tapped into, you will be able to easily produce a passable reproduction of the model, who I believe will be joining us shortly." She looked at the spot where the model would stand. A tall figure with short cropped hair apparated into the room. His back was turned to the class. "Ah, there he is." The instructor cheerfully chirped. "Once he is in position, you will do as instructed and we shall see if we have any artists among us this evening." She turned to the model. "Whenever you're ready."

The model gave no indication he'd been listening to her or that he'd even heard. Silently and in a fluid motion, he removed the robes he wore and turned to face the class. His well-proportioned body was completely nude. Shadows danced across a muscular chest, his arms hung at his side, a face shrouded in shadows was the only concession to modesty. He assumed a pose, but his face remained hidden.

"It figures," grumbled Ginny.

"What figures?" Hermione could not take her eyes off the wizard standing nude before her. She'd seen nude men before. It was not that, not that at all. The humming had grown stronger in her ears and the wand felt warm, but comfortably so.

"He's the one everyone's been talking about. I just know it. His face is hidden. A disillusionment charm or something like it, I'm sure. I don't see why he thinks he needs one. I mean with a body like that!" Ginny's rambling comments echoed those of every witch in the room, except Hermione. "Did you hear what I said?" Ginny turned to face her friend. Her jaw dropped in amazement. She watched in amazement as the drawing wand in Hermione's hand darted across the canvas. Within minutes, a more than passable drawing had materialised on Hermione's canvas…a drawing that visibly breathed life as evidenced by the gentle rise and fall of the subject's chest. "When did you learn to do that?" Ginny was aghast.

Hermione had not heard Ginny's comment. She seemed dazed and confused, almost exhausted. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, breathing a little heavier than normal. Instantly, the instructor was at her side. She looked first at the reclining witch and then at the drawing she'd produced and proudly announced, "Class, we have a natural artist! Look!" The class all rushed over to see the first moving portrait any of them had produced before returning to their seats and trying themselves. Hermione spent much of the session half listening to the instructor's words and marvelling at the drawing she'd managed. No one in her family had ever had much artistic talent, but then again she was the only witch in her family, too. She was both proud and a little fearful…proud that she'd discovered another talent of which she'd been unaware all these years, but also fearful because she had no memory of actually drawing the portrait. She did, however, vividly remember the deafening humming that had pervaded her senses and blocked the outside world while she drew.

The class drew to a close. Her effort remained the only one that had resulted in a moving drawing. She looked at her work. It still breathed. Her brow creased a little as she studied the face. The face of the model had been obscured by some charm or other and had remained so throughout the session. Her drawing featured a face that seemed vaguely familiar, though she could not place it. She decided to question the teacher and stayed after class. Ginny had agreed to meet up with her later in the evening at the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione sat still as the class filed out of the room. She stared at the figure she'd drawn, still not fully comprehending the fact that the drawing had spilled from her wand.

"Magical essences are a strange thing, I've always said. I don't really believe anyone has ever explained how it works."

Hermione looked up at the small black-haired witch. "What exactly is a magical essence and what does it have to do with art?"

"You're a Muggleborn, aren't you?" The witch cocked an eyebrow as Hermione's countenance hardened briefly, but appeared otherwise neutral about her question. "Yes, I thought so." She held a hand up in a gesture of 'let me explain'. "I mean no disrespect by that. It was merely an observation on my part." Again, the witch looked with an appraising but approving eye at Hermione's work. "Yes, clearly you have the sight."

Hermione snorted. "I've never held a high opinion of Divination, walked out of my first and only class actually after being told I possessed no sight whatsoever."

The witch smiled broadly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's not Divination that makes a good artist, but to be honest we don't know what does." She motioned to the drawing. "Notice how he still breathes."

"I don't know how I did that." Hermione shook her head.

"Your magical energy is a good match for this drawing wand. You could do even better with a drawing wand made especially for you and tailored exactly for you. You were able to allow your magical energy to connect with that of the subject and the drawing wand reproduced what you felt or sensed."

"But I don't remember doing it," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself.

The instructor only smiled. "The best artists never do, or so I'm told." She sat down and held Hermione's hands in hers. "It's a gift, an artistic gift. You are able to sense…to feel…what you can't see and reproduce the essence within. It is so much more than simply drawing a straight line or playing musical notes in the correct order. You have to feel it, to breathe it, to live it and let it flow from deep within you, let it flow through you. Anyone can be taught to play notes in order. Not everyone can make a piece of music become a living breathing work of beauty that can touch your soul. It takes no talent to put wand to canvas, but not everyone can make a portrait breathe and come alive."

Hermione listened to the explanation and stared at the drawing she'd somehow allowed to flow from within her. The figure wore an unmistakeable look of sadness on an otherwise indistinguishable face. "He looks sad. Who is he?"

"I cannot reveal the identity of any of the models who work for us. Only they can choose to reveal their identities if they so choose and almost none of them have ever done so. Otherwise, a disillusionment charm gives them a shred of modesty and privacy."

"Is there any chance that he…?"

The instructor cut her off again with a shake of her head. "No, most assuredly not. I've been with this school for some time and not even I have ever seen his face. He is a most private man." She chuckled softly, "A right pity if you ask me."

Hermione smiled in response. "How was I able to draw his face, well part of it anyway, if there was a disillusionment charm in place?"

The instructor looked closely at the drawing. "Hmm," she mumbled as she studied it closely. "I suppose that it is possible that you were able to tap into enough of his magical essence to capture some semblance of his appearance."

"Then that is his real face I drew?"

"It could be. I have no way of knowing. As I indicated before, I've never seen his face nor do I know anything about him." She stood, shrugged her shoulders, "It could very well be."

"May I take this with me?" Hermione pointed to the drawing.

"Of course. It's yours. Will I see you at the next lesson?" She looked optimistic, not wanting to lose the most promising artist to pass through her class in quite some time.

"Yes," Hermione smiled, "I think so." She wanted to find out more about the wizard who had been the model for the class…and why he was sad. She left to join Ginny at the Leaky Cauldron.

"About time you decided to grace us with your presence." Ginny smirked broadly, raising her glass towards Hermione in a mock toast. Her other arm was loosely slung over the shoulder of a handsome young wizard whom Hermione did not recognise.

Hermione smiled weakly but sat down anyway. "What's your pleasure tonight, love?" The unnamed wizard asked. He seemed friendly enough, but Hermione had hoped to have a serious discussion with Ginny about the events of the evening. That prospect seemed increasingly unlikely.

"A Butterbeer would be lovely," Hermione spoke softly. She could still mull things over in her own head and be civil to others.

"Oh come on now! We're not children anymore." He smiled revealing teeth so white that Hermione feared he was a long-lost relative of Gilderoy Lockhart. The more she looked at him, the more she wondered whether he might actually be some relation to the still hospitalised wizard and whether Ginny would take offence if she were to point out the stunning similarity in their appearances. For now, she bit her lip and stayed silent. "How about a nice triple Chinese Fireball? They're brilliant, a real specialty of the bartender here." He motioned for a drink and placed the order for her.

"So, Hermione, I take it you enjoyed the class? Did the instructor give you any inside information about who the model is?" Ginny was quite giggly, clearly enjoying the attentions of the wizard nibbling her earlobe. He mumbled something after her comment. It might have been, 'what am I? Chopped liver?' Hermione wasn't certain and not about to ask either of them.

"Well, she told me a number of interesting things about wizard art and the models, but no, she didn't give me his name."

"And here I was hoping you'd got his address, too." The drinks arrived. The Chinese Fireballs emitted little bursts of flame periodically.

That caught Hermione's attention. "How are you supposed to drink those? They're spitting fire into the air!"

The wizard laughed. "It's kind of like fighting a dragon. You have to be quick and sort of sneak in there and get at it. It can be done. I assure you." He raised his glass to his face, hesitated and then proceeded to down it unscathed. "Aahh," he breathed in satisfaction, feeling the bursts of warmth. "I love those…can't get enough of them."

"It's the closest you'll ever come to fighting a dragon," Ginny laughed. She raised her own glass to her lips, hesitated and then took a sip, rather than downing the shot quickly. A sudden burst of flame caught the end of her nose and singed it. She threw the glass, spilling it remaining contents onto the tabletop. A few seconds later, the liquid emitted another little burst of flame.

"Evanesco!" The wizard called out, wand in hand. The flaming liquid vanished with a little show of sparks. He turned to Ginny, "You'll learn, sweetheart. You'll learn."

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that before?" Hermione sounded completely incredulous. "The Ministry would have a record of who holds what job. I could find out there."

"I'm not talking to Percy, Hermione." Ginny commented harshly. "I don't care how much he does for Mum and Dad nowadays."

"I wouldn't deign to ask you to speak to a close relative on my behalf," Hermione responded a little bitterly. So many families had been destroyed in the final months before Voldemort had finally been defeated and the reign of terror ended for good. She found it hard to believe that Ginny continued holding to a grudge all these years. Besides, she thought, Percy Weasley had gone out of his way to be a good son in the years since Voldemort's fall. He had done so much not only for his own family, but for others devastated by the effects of the war with his charity work. If it came down to it, Hermione would talk to Percy herself. He was a changed man now. Surely, he would do all he could to help an old friend. "No worries, Ginny. I don't think he even works in that department anymore, not from what I heard last anyway." Her mind was set. First thing in the morning, she would head to the Ministry and begin digging around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Eye of the Beholder**

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JKR**

**Chapter 2**

The next several weeks progressed in much the same frustrating manner of one step forward and at least two back. The maze of wizard bureaucracy had seemingly worsened. Documents had been classified, reclassified, misfiled, outright lost and nothing could be obtained without filling out magically binding applications in triplicate and waiting for official signatures and seals to be added before any of it could even be formally submitted. That was followed, of course, by the obligatory waiting periods. Though she did not see the model that had so captivated her that first evening at each class, when she did see him, she felt a growing connection. Indeed, his face seemed clearer with each drawing. He seemed both familiar and completely foreign at the same time. It was all so maddening. Hermione was fit to be tied the day she found herself in the Department of Magical Games and Sports for the umpteenth time asking to see documents that could not possibly by any stretch of the imagination contain anything classified. Yet, she grew more convinced with each passing week that there was something going. Given the reactions she got when making inquiries, one could think that wizard lives hung in the balance if any information about evening art classes became public knowledge.

"Hermione Granger! Is that really you?" The voice belonged to a cheery young wizard who stood behind a counter inside the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Hermione looked at him, but couldn't place his name. "I'm sorry. You appear to have me at a disadvantage. You are?"

"Creevey, Dennis Creevey. I was in Gryffindor a few years behind you. Colin's told me so much about you." His smile never lessened, nor did his enthusiasm. "What can I do for you today? I can't believe you're really standing right here in front of me."

For a moment, Hermione considered whether offering him an autograph might help in obtaining preferential treatment when it came to access to Ministry documents. She smiled at him, eliciting a toothy grin in return. "I'd like to take a look at the instructional roster for the evening art classes. I'd like to put a certain special project together for the last day of the semester." She offered no further explanation, but casually placed her hand on top of Dennis' hand. "It would be such a help."

"That's not a problem," he quipped cheerily. "Those lists are available for anyone who wants to see them. Not that many people care to ever look at them, though." He turned and walked to a filing shelf. Dragging one finger along the titles, he pulled one out, and then turned to hand it to Hermione. "Here, this should cover all the art classes."

Hermione took the book and scanned its contents quickly. A crease of frustration appeared on her forehead. The book listed instructors only. There was no mention of any models, male or female. She closed the book and returned to the counter.

"That was quick! Did you find what you needed?"

"Actually," Hermione began, "I need a list of wizards who work as models for the evening art classes. Would you be able to tell me where I might find such a list?"

Dennis thought in silence for a second or two. "Well, maybe…let me check another source from not long after the Victory." He walked out of view and returned a half-hour later with a dusty sheaf of parchments. "This is all I could find, Hermione. If what you're looking for isn't there, then it doesn't exist."

Hermione glanced through the parchments, but could find no mention of any wizards working as models for art classes. 'That's odd,' she thought. 'Why would models be such a secret?' She handed the sheaf back to Dennis. "Thanks anyway." She started to walk away, believing herself to be back at square one.

"Hermione! Hey!" He called to her, waving his hands in the air. She turned to face him. He motioned for her to come back. "You might want to try one other source, though it's not only art classes." She looked a tad sceptical. He continued unabated, "After the Victory, the Ministry wanted to rebuild quickly. The battle against Voldemort had greatly interfered with the education of a good many wizards and witches. It was for that reason that all manner of evening classes were established."

"I've heard the press releases, Dennis. How does that help me?"

He held a small booklet that appeared to have been stored in a damp environment if the mildew smell was anything to go by. Hermione reached for it eagerly. "I found this while cleaning out one of the old store rooms. I haven't had a chance to really examine it properly, but I'm sure it won't hurt any if I let you take a look at it."

Hermione held the small booklet carefully. "Thanks, Dennis." She moved to one of the reading tables and began trying to decipher the lines blurred by water damage. It would likely take some serious restorative work to recover any significant data from this particular source. A word caught her eye. Art. The lines around it were completely smudged beyond recognition. It appeared to be useless without the opportunity to cast some restorative charms on the parchment. She looked at the pages before and after the one that dealt with art. She noted several pages appeared to be missing. The letters AK appeared in several places, which greatly puzzled her. AK? Avada Kedavra? What would that have to do with art classes? The letters appeared next to several pairs of words, all unreadable because of damage. Pairs of words? Could they be names, she wondered? Were they the names of wizards who were felled in the immediate post-Victory period of chaos? It had been a rough and volatile time. Fingers were pointed in all directions, denials and protests of innocence echoed loudly and more than a few had died innocently or not in sporadic and seemingly random violence until the Ministry finally restored some semblance of order. She reached the last page of the book and reluctantly closed it. She felt defeated, having discovered not a single name. She returned to the counter and handed the booklet to Dennis. "You've got your work cut out for you with this?"

"Is it that bad, the water damage? I mean, as bad as I feared?"

"Let me put it this way, Dennis," she spoke softly, "I hope you're talented with Restorative Charms…really powerful ones." Restorative charms were a tricky business and quite draining, though mostly from nerves and worry about doing more harm than good. He smiled uneasily. She thanked him for his trouble and left feeling more dejected than ever. She had no idea where to look next. She hoped the class that evening would reinvigorate her.

She arrived early for the class and used the time to look around the classroom. She noticed a door through which the models must pass. She berated herself for thinking maybe they apparated in for the class. A warm feeling of opportunity began to grow in her chest as she realised that she could perhaps follow him, the model she most sought, or indeed any of them in an effort to learn who they are and why the Ministry had no record of them. She took her place as other students began to arrive, soon followed by the instructor. Hermione could barely contain her excitement upon seeing the model for that evening. It was him…in all his glory.

The class progressed well, as was expected. Hermione's work became ever more detailed, though the face remained stubbornly hidden. She wondered about a darker spot that appeared on one of the arms. It was rather non-descript, of no recognisable shape and really barely there, unless you really nitpicked. After all, the other arm had shading as well. Still, Hermione could not shake the feeling that something was there.

Another student had joined the class recently and also showed a natural aptitude for creating breathing art. Hermione was grateful for the fuss around the other woman that night. She kept her eyes on the model, quietly bundled her items together and walked casually to the door at the far end of the classroom, the one through which the model had gone only moments earlier.

The darkness of the room startled her and she squinted for a couple seconds until her vision adjusted to the darkness. Her eyes scanned the room. It appeared to be empty. Then, a movement caught her eye. A figure, cloaked in simple dark robes! She followed him, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Odd that she could not discern much about his features, even though she could see him only from the back. It seemed almost as if his entire head were hidden behind a mist. His head…and hands she noted with a start were quite blurred. If he'd cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, but not his clothing…maybe that could explain the odd juxtaposition of clearly visible and clearly not at the same time.

She followed him into Diagon Alley. He appeared to have a destination in mind and was moving at a fairly rapid pace. Hermione, lacking any real training or experience in trailing wizards, did the best she could. Enough wizards still populated the street to help somewhat with blending in. She stayed a good distance behind him but never lost sight of him. A lump rose in her throat when he turned down a particularly dark and still foreboding street…Knockturn Alley. Since the Victory, Knockturn Alley had lost little of its former reputation. It remained a favourite haunt of those inclined to pursue darker interests as well as those who skirted the bounds of legality. Although most known Death Eaters had been sentenced to stays of varying lengths in Azkaban, many of those who had done little more than sympathise with Voldemort had already been released back into the unwelcoming and damning arms of a wizard world that remained deeply unforgiving of even the smallest transgressions.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the dark heart of wizarding Britain. She was sure it was just her imagination, but even the air seemed charged with negative energy. It radiated all around her, sapping at her resolve almost as the Dementors had once drained happy memories of those who strayed into their paths. She looked ahead with a start. He was nowhere to be seen. She moved forward rapidly, her heart pounding and pulse racing. It seemed to get darker, the further she moved into the den of iniquity. A startled gasp escaped her lips. Everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, she did not know where she was. She became aware of several figures standing near her. She realised she could not move. She found her voice. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Her questions were met with laughter. "Leave me. I will question her alone." The figures left. The remaining figure walked closer. His face was still blurred, but it was him. The model! He stood silently before her and studied her features, her body. The seconds gave way to minutes of silent appraisal. Her breathing became more rapid as the fear grew and took hold within her. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "You do not find it enjoyable to have strangers study your body even though you are fully clothed and I have no intention of…," he hesitated a moment, "raping you, if that puts your overworked little mind at ease." He stood close to her. His breath felt warm against her face in the chill darkness. "Why are you here? What did you hope to gain by following me here?"

"I…I just wanted to know who you are. I've been drawing you for the past several weeks, over a month, and I…"

"Dare I think you desired to spend time with me? Perhaps ask me to accompany you to Madam Puddifoots for a romantic afternoon tea? The handsome, sexy, nude model of your dreams!" His voice remained low. Though his words were sarcastic, the tone gave no indication of impending threat. A long pale finger traced a line beginning at her temple across her face to her chin. "Clearly, you were desirous of my company as all the silly young witches believe themselves to be. Now you alone have my undivided attention." The finger traced over her lips, softly almost lovingly. "Now that we're both here…alone, what would you have me do?"

"Let me go," she whispered.

"Have you really gone to all this trouble to find me only to turn and walk away as soon as I speak to you?" He gave her a reproachful look. "Have you exhausted your supply of the much vaunted Gryffindor bravery so quickly? You disappoint me, Miss Granger."

He knew her. At first, that thought troubled her, but a moment later she reasoned that she was well-known after the Victory. It was not surprising to still be recognised, despite all her efforts to maintain a low profile. Any thoughts she'd had about reform in the wizard world after Voldemort's destruction had proved fleeting. Things continued much as they had before, minus the threat that had loomed over her student years. "I'm sorry I bothered you. I guess I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have come." With a start, she realised she was no longer immobile and likely hadn't been for some time. "I'll just be going, then." She took a step in the direction of the doorway.

"Not so fast, Miss Granger," the silky voice intoned. A twitch of familiarity niggled at the base of her brain. "A favour should always be repaid."

"I don't owe you anyth…," she stopped herself from completing the word. He was letting her go with neither warnings nor threats. He was doing her a favour, a fact of which she was suddenly acutely and embarrassingly aware. "What would you have me do?"

The wizard with the blurred face stood quietly as if contemplating a great many things before finally speaking. "You are still in touch with the Weasleys, am I correct?" He did not wait for her to answer. He walked over to her, cupped her face in his hands and whispered, "Tell Percy Weasley that an old friend sends warmest greetings."

A second or two passed before the words fully registered in her mind. Percy? Of all the Weasleys, Percy remained the one with whom she'd spoken the least, though there was no enmity between them. He was committed to his career at the Ministry and had advanced quickly through the ranks, thanks in large part to the enormous amount of charity work he'd organised since Voldemort's fall. What would Percy Weasley possibly have to do with seedy wizards who lived in Knockturn Alley?

"How do you know Percy?" She tried to see through the blur of his face, but could not. "Do you work for the Ministry?"

Of all the things she may have expected in response to such an innocuous question, rich baritone laughter might well have been the last. "One might say that, after a fashion."

"Then you and the others here are Ministry employees, working undercover? To what end?" The more she thought about it, the more reasonable it sounded that the Ministry would wish to keep a close eye on the denizens of the most infamous street in wizarding Britain.

"So naïve," he shook his head. "What you see, dear girl, is what you get. I have nothing to hide, indeed I have bared all for the Ministry."

"All but your face? You keep that well hidden, don't you?" She was dying to know who he was. Something about him seemed almost tragic. The images in her mind, those reflected in the drawings she made, seemed oddly incongruent with the haughty but reserved manner in which he carried himself in his own territory."

"I am entitled to a modicum of privacy. In many ways it is all that remains to me."

"You would be recognised without the disillusionment charm, wouldn't you? What are you hiding?"

"I do not hide anything. The Ministry," he spoke the word noticeably harsher, "knows exactly who I am and what I do as well as why I do it."

"Then why does the Ministry have no record of you? I searched everywhere. There is no record of you or any models in that class."

"Did you really think there would be?" He had turned away from her, his head bowed slightly.

"Have you requested the records to be sealed for some reason? Are you so ashamed of your work? Even still, there should be a record of your employment and there isn't."

"I have told you all I can."

"You've told me nothing."

"I've told you more than enough to satisfy your insatiable curiosity."

"I know Percy. He's a good man now. Whatever the problem is, I'm sure he'd be willing to help once I explain…"

He held a hand up to silence her. "All I ask is for you to extend 'warm' greetings from an old friend. I'm sure even a Weasley can understand such a simple message without any undue taxing of the brain or need for further explanations." He paused. She sensed, rather than saw, a smile of resignation. "Anything else may do more harm than good. Don't follow me here again, Miss Granger."

She heard a pop and he was gone, leaving her alone to ponder his enigmatic words. She resolved to try and see Percy first thing in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Eye of the Beholder**

**Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JKR**

**Chapter 3**

"Hermione! I'm always happy to see you." He positively beamed as she stepped into his office. He greeted her with a warm hug, then walked to a wooden table upon which rested a tea service. He poured her a cup and handed it to her. "One lump with just a bit of milk, exactly how you like it." Percy had made it a habit to remember such details about people. She accepted the cup and held it with both hands. The smile had never left his face. "You really should come around more frequently, Hermione. You know you're always welcome here."

"Your secretary asked me to wait two weeks to see you." She smiled, "Else I'd have come to see you a while ago." She sipped at the tea.

Percy's smile faded a fraction, "Yes, well, the Ministry keeps me very very busy. Although, I have always told my staff to find time in my schedule for those I hold dear. You do know that includes you, Hermione." He smiled as if trying to coax a positive answer from her. He beamed again like the consummate politician he'd become when she nodded her head. "Splendid. I take it that this is more than a social call, however." She nodded again and he continued, "Well then, what can I do for you?"

She set her cup down, considered her words for a moment and began to speak. "I'd like to find the name of a certain wizard who does modelling work in an evening art class."

"The Department of Magical Games and Sports maintains lists of all who fill such positions." He smirked. "Really, Hermione, I'd have thought you'd know to look there."

"I have looked there. In fact, it was the first place I looked. Interestingly, they have no record of any models for the art classes."

"Of course, they do. All wizards and witches who assist in those interest/education classes are properly documented." His temple twitched ever so slightly.

Hermione noted it but did not call attention to it. She knew it to be a sign that he was hiding something, something that made him feel guilty. "There is no record of this wizard."

"Do you have a name for this wizard?" Percy's voice had cracked a little and he coughed in an effort to cover it up. Hermione wanted desperately to know what he was hiding.

"No, I don't."

Percy seemed a little more at ease. "What about a description? What does he look like? If there are any wizards doing under the table work, the Ministry needs to find that out…standards, regulations and such must be upheld, you understand."

"His face is always hidden behind a disillusionment charm." Hermione watched Percy closely. His face visibly paled at her words. She began to think she may have stumbled onto something quite big in scope and judging by Percy's reaction, something the Ministry wanted kept quite clandestine.

Percy took several deep breaths, walked to a window and looked out for awhile in silence. Finally, he spoke. "Just let it go."

"Pardon?" She could not believe her ears. "Why would I do such a thing?"

Percy turned to her. "Just let it go, trust me on this. Whatever interest you may have in this…'wizard'…just let it go." He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You don't want to mess with these wizards. Please believe me. I'm speaking to you as a friend here."

"That's funny. Those are the words he told me to tell you. He asked me to give you 'warm greetings from an old friend'."

Percy's face froze in a look of dread. "Y…you spoke with him?"

"I followed him to Knockturn Alley and spoke with him there."

"Y…you went to Knockturn Alley." He spoke the question more as a phrase. He was visibly flustered. "Did her tell you anything?' Percy found whatever courage had placed him in Gryffindor all those years ago and looked at Hermione.

"Only to extend his warm greetings to you." Hermione huffed a bit angrily. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about Percy? You're acting like he's a former Death Eater who has evaded Ministry persecution."

"Prosecution," he corrected her with a laugh. "We did not persecute anyone. We prosecuted those who deserved it."

"Then why the cover-up of a group of men who earn their keep as nude models in an evening art class?"

"You don't understand, Hermione. There is so much more to it than a group of lowlife scum who are fit only to stand naked before a crowd of adoring little witches."

"You know about them, don't you?" she asked, taking a step towards him. His patronising words had angered her. She struggled to keep that in check. He became visibly unnerved by her proximity. "You know who they are. You've as much as admitted that just now. Clearly, you believe them to be guilty of some heinous offence, maybe even of being Death Eaters. And yet not a single one of them is officially on any Ministry payroll only we both know for a fact that they are not working under the table. The Ministry knows about it."

"You can't tell anyone about this, Hermione! Please, let it go!"

Percy had long been known for his charity work. He'd launched numerous charities almost as soon as the war with Voldemort had ended. As time went on, he'd expanded his charity work…and helped his family…and done quite well for himself on the side. A flash of intuition filled Hermione. "It takes a lot of money to do what you've done since the Victory. How much of their earnings are you taking? What else have you taken?"

"I've done good work, Hermione. I do good work not only for myself and my family, but for all wizards in Britain."

"You're taking it all, aren't you? You've taken everything they had and everything since." She remembered the booklet she'd seen, the one Dennis had shown her. The odd code letters suddenly made sense. It hadn't been AK (Avada Kedavra), but rather KA (Knockturn Alley) written next to a string of two words…names. "You're running a whole ring of them aren't you?"

Percy had gone white, but looked resolute. "I don't know where you found this information, Hermione."

"You admit it then?" She interjected.

"It's all for a good cause."

"It's blackmail and even wizards have laws against that."

"They're scum. They're Death Eaters. They haven't earned a right to anything. The wizard world is better off without them infecting us with their brand of poison. You know what they did. You were there when Ron died!"

Hermione paled for the first time, yet her voice was calm. "Don't speak to me about Ron in the context of you orchestrating a pimp circus and convincing yourself that such endeavours are worthy of honour."

"Hermione…," he tried to explain.

"If they are Death Eaters, then they belong in Azkaban, not standing naked before an adoring crowd!" She tried to take it all in, everything she had just learned or realised. "How many are there?"

Percy shook his head and sat down. "There's only a couple still actively in service." He gave her an imploring look. "Only one who will remain so for the foreseeable future."

"The one I seek? Your old friend?" She looked at Percy with disgust etched on her face. "What is it you're holding over him?"

"He's a former Death Eater."

"It has to be more than that." Percy looked questioningly at her. "Why else would the other former Death Eaters in your 'employ' be excused from their debts?" She quirked an eyebrow waiting for a response. "What are you holding over him?"

Percy spat out, "Why do you care? Do you fancy yourself in love with him?"

Hermione laughed out loud. "What if I did? Would that bother you?"

Percy adopted a conciliatory approach. "Hermione, he'll hurt you like he's hurt others before, many others. Don't let him do that to you. Please?"

"Will you stop doing this, Percy?"

He looked contrite, then chastened. "I'll see that they are properly compensated for all their work, all right? And for what it's worth, Hermione, I'm sorry."

She held his gaze, and then looked at her teacup. She picked it up, raised it to her lips and commented softly, "It's gone cold."

"Would you like more?"

"No, thank you." She rose. "I really should be going."

"Hermione!" She turned to him. "I really am sorry." She smiled at him and walked out of his office and the Ministry. It was all too much. She berated herself for believing that he'd changed, that the wizard world had changed even if just by some imperceptible little bit. In the end, she realised, it had been she who had changed. She now accepted things she never would have accepted before. She made her way to Diagon Alley, never noticing the wizard trailing her.

She wandered aimlessly through Diagon Alley for some time, unsure of her wants and desires. She felt an attraction of sort for the wizard with neither name nor face, yet the rational part of her railed against such a leap of faith. She knew nothing about him aside from the unpleasant fact that he'd been a Death Eater. She wondered whether Percy had been truthful about that, then decided he likely had been. The circumstances around her wizard were damning enough for such an eventuality to be true. He stayed in Knockturn Alley, worked somewhat grudgingly for the Ministry…an employ the Ministry had clearly taken great pains to completely cover up and officially deny. Hermione knew all of this and it angered her. It stirred up feeling she'd not felt since the days of SPEW and yet like that time of so long ago, any attempt now to buck tradition for what she believed to be the morally correct thing to do would likely result in many innocent people being hurt. Percy Weasley had been correct in his assessment that his charity work had benefited many of those in need. Could she really risk cutting off their aid, even if only short-term, because she felt bad for…felt an attraction to…an unknown likely former Death Eater? Oddly, she believed she could. Several times she found herself within sight of Knockturn Alley and several times she backed away only to return minutes or a half-hour later. 'Oh, what the hell' she thought and entered the dark alley just as night fell.

The dingy alley seemed unnervingly familiar to her this time. That thought emboldened her and her pace held a resolve that heightened her senses. She heard footsteps behind her, instantly chastising herself for being paranoid, then for thinking she shouldn't be worried. Knockturn Alley was not bustling but neither was it deserted. Furtive figures darted in and out of scarcely lit dwellings. Faces were nearly always hidden. A glimpse of dark cloaks and stringy hair represented the sum total of her attempts to observe as unobtrusively as possible. She grasped her wand firmly within her own robes. She stopped in front of the building where she'd spoken to the faceless wizard. How she knew it was here, she wasn't sure. She'd been unconscious when she'd been taken in and she hadn't stopped to admire the vicinity upon leaving either. Still, a nagging certainly played on her mind…and heart she realised. She knew it couldn't be love. She didn't have even a name. Yet, she felt something and wanted to do what she could to help him. Then again, maybe it was to satisfy some deep need within herself. Harry had always possessed that need to help others. She had always admired him for it, more so in the years of his absence.

Her thoughts had wandered. A bolt of green light pierced through the gathering darkness, obliterating the doorway. She dropped to the ground, momentarily startled out of her reverie. The blackness around her pulsed with lights of varying colours and the sounds of glass and wood shattering. The dampness of the wet ground began to seep through her robes. Her face was both singed with heat from the blast's debris and cold with splattered grime from the ground. She tried to stand, her wand in hand, but collapsed almost immediately with the wind knocked out of her. She couldn't catch her breath. A stunning spell? Another blast of light hit her prostrate form, sending her hurling backwards against a wall. For a moment, she saw flashes of light and was unsure whether the flashes were spells or merely the result of hitting her head against a wall. She tried to clear her thoughts. She raised her wand, unsure of what to do, as she could see forms but could not discern friend from foe, if indeed any of them were potential friends. Suddenly, she went stiff. 'This is why I didn't want to be an Auror' she thought with a laugh that remained unvoiced. She'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalis. The ground beneath her seemed to be moving. It took her a moment to realise that she was the one moving. She could not see who was guiding her frozen body or where they were headed. The sounds of the pitched battle behind her grew dimmer. Had she been moved that far or was it ending as quickly as it had begun? She heard 'Finite Incantatem' and her body dropped to the floor like a sack of stones.

Placing a hand on her forehead, she looked up into the face of a tall wizard. She stared for a moment, trying to clear her vision. His face was blurred. "It's you!" she gasped.

"I asked you to not return here."

"Why did you bring me here? Those were your spells back there? You could have killed me with that first blast!" Hermione noted that she was in unfamiliar surroundings and seemingly at the mercy of the still faceless wizard. Yet, she was in no way bound, magically or otherwise.

He stood in silence gazing at her with eyes she couldn't see. She felt his gaze, but did not feel threatened by it. "Pick up your wand." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

She looked around, confused at first by his words, and then spotted her wand where it had fallen from her fingers. She quickly snatched it up never taking her eyes from the form that had once more turned away from her.

"I can show you another way out. The passage will lead you to a hidden spot in Muggle London. In possession of your wand, you should be safe there."

"No," she stated plainly. "I will not leave until you tell me what's going on here. I know it involves former Death Eaters. I…"

"Meddlesome fool! Don't you understand, girl? There is nothing you can do. You've already done more harm than good by coming here! You put everyone at risk!" The harsh words could not hide what she knew to be genuine fear.

"What are you hiding?"

"It is not me who hides."

"Then who? The Ministry? Is that what you're saying? The Ministry hides the fact that you stand naked before an art class every so often. Why is it necessary to hide that? There is no shame in what you do."

The faceless wizard chuckled softly. "So naïve," he shook his head. "Standing nude before an art class is the least of what has been done, dear girl. Others have fared far worse."

"Then you are a former Death Eater?" He raised his sleeve and revealed a large, ugly mass of what looked like badly healed melted skin. Hermione stared in horrified revulsion. "That…that's not a Dark Mark. After Voldemort was defeated, the Dark Marks all faded. No one has a scar like that."

"The Dark Lord did not do this," he spat bitterly. Before she could question further, he replied, "The Ministry did."

"There were trials of former Death Eaters and those who aided them. They were sent to Azkaban. The first of them, those who had unknowingly assisted, are now being released." Hermione, like everyone else, had followed the accounts and trials with rapt fascination. She had testified in quite a few cases herself, even arguing for leniency in one case…that of Draco Malfoy. The verdict in his case had been a not entirely unexpected 'Guilty', though the Ministry had sealed all documents pertaining to his case and had refused to divulge where he was being held, claiming it to be protective custody. No one had seen or heard from the younger Malfoy since the trial. No one had seen or heard from the elder Malfoy in an even longer time, she realised. The entire Malfoy Estate had been claimed by the Ministry along with those of several other prominent families that had been linked to the Death Eaters.

"And the Ministry always does right." The anger and bitterness in his voice were unmistakeable.

She pointed to the hideously scarred flesh. "You want me to believe the Ministry did that as some sort of retribution?"

"It was never official policy, I assure you and nor will you ever find any official record of it."

"Is Percy Weasley involved in this somehow?"

"Who do you think tried to kill you this evening?"

The words hung in the air between them. Hermione shook her head from side to side. "No, no…Percy may be quite unethical at times, but he'd never have anyone, me, killed!"

"A dear old friend. How long have you known him, Miss Granger? I take it you spoke with him at the Ministry? Yes, of course, you always were diligent about completing assignments early or so I'd heard. You went running to him right away, didn't you? What did you tell him or more importantly, what did he tell you?" The faceless wizard stood directly in front of her.

"He said he'd see that you were compensated for everything and that he was s…s…," the words died on her lips. He couldn't have meant that. She refused to accept in her heart what her rational mind already screamed. "He said he was sorry." The words tumbled out in a rushed gasp.

The faceless wizard reached a hand out to caress Hermione's face, wiping away a tear as he did so. "Betrayal is always bitter." His hand lingered on her face. It felt good to touch a woman again. His breath caught in his throat when she placed her hand on his, grasping it softly. "You don't know who I am," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter." She leaned into him, burying her face in his robes. "I know it's true." The sobs she'd been suppressing burst forth. His arms encircled her trying to offer whatever solace he could. She embraced him, pulling him closer. Her sobbing slowed, and then stopped. Neither he nor she made a move to draw apart. His fingers played with her hair.

"I can show you the way to a safe spot in Muggle London," he whispered.

She looked up at him, still red-eyed. "Can you kiss me even if I can't see your face?" She closed her eyes. Moments later, she felt warm lips on hers. She pulled him tighter to her and began to caress his shoulders and back. Her hands inched lower to touch him. She thought it felt good to touch a man again.

"If you continue, I will not be able to restrain myself."

"Please. I don't want you to." Her admission startled her a little, yet she had desired this wizard since first laying eyes on him during the first art class. The more she'd learned about him made her believe he had paid dearly for whatever role he'd played in Voldemort's service. She wanted and needed him, even if only for one night. She drew back and looked at the blur of his face, then pulled away from his embrace. With a sly grin, she undid the catch on her robe and tossed it aside. She began to undo the buttons on her blouse smiling demurely as she methodically undressed before him.

"Miss Granger," he started to speak, clearly aroused at the sight of the naked girl before him.

"Hermione," she said softly, "call me Hermione." She moved to him and quickly removed his clothing. Her hands reached for and descended on his shoulders, gently tracing a path down his arms. She held his hand in hers, lifted his arm to her lips and softly kissed the horribly scarred flesh. Her tongue traced a wet path from the scar tissue to his wrist. Her fingers opened his as she guided his hand to her breast. He needed no further encouragement.

His hand caressed her causing her to gasp in bursts of pleasure. In a fluid motion, he deftly scooped her into his arms and retreated to another room. A solitary candle burned at one end casting scant light on the threadbare blanket. He lowered her gently, and then laid himself beside her. He claimed her lips in another kiss, probing her mouth with his tongue. She met him with her own as her fingers danced across his back and chest. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once. She knew it was pure lust, but did not care. All that mattered was the here and now and the faceless wizard now lavishing attention on her.

Her breathing became faster, her pulse rate soared. His lips crushed hers… she opened her eyes. She could feel his body, but his face remained blurred.

"Will you allow me to see your face?"

His head moved lower, nipping her neck with increasing pressure. He would leave a mark. He was not her first, but it had been a while. The raw pleasure coursing through her blinded her to all but the feel and scent of the wizard in her arms.

Hours later, she awoke alone in the bed, a soft sigh of disappointment crossing her lips. She sat up and looked around, only then noticing the wizard standing by a small window, naked with his back to her. "I thought you'd left."

He turned to face her and she smiled in warm appreciation of his near perfect body…his legs, his hips, a small line of fine hair beginning just over his navel and reaching ever lower, his abdomen and chest wonderfully chiselled, strong arms, though one was horribly scarred, and broad shoulders…his face… She froze. The disillusionment charm was gone. He stared back at her. She struggled to not gasp in horror. "Will you tell me your name?" She managed to ask, her voice far calmer than she felt. His face was as scarred as the melted flesh on his left arm, his hair scorched whitish stubble.

"Do you not recognise me, Miss Granger?" He had not moved since turning around. She shook her head but maintained eye contact with him. Slowly, one step after another, he approached her. Holding out his right hand, he spoke, "Then allow me to introduce myself, Lucius Malfoy." He spoke his name in a near whisper.

For a moment, Hermione was not sure she'd heard correctly. Had she just spent the night with the elder Malfoy? Was this pitiable creature that stood before all that remained of the once proud and haughty Malfoy Sr.? The man who had saved her from the Ministry hit wizards. She had no doubt that she'd been targeted. Was this the man who had so tenderly loved her the night before? She looked into his ruined face, smiled and accepted his hand, pulling him down to her on the bed.

"I do not want your pity, Miss Granger." The sadness in his eyes belied his words.

She reached a hand behind his head, lifted herself a little and kissed him. "Who said anything about pity…Lucius? And my name is Hermione, please remember that!" She kissed him again. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He began to respond, opening his mouth to her. His arms moved to encircle the young witch in his arms. They lay together for hours until long shadows once again began to fall across the room.

"You can't stay here, Hermione."

"You don't have to stay here, Lucius."

"Challenging the Ministry will be a most unpleasant venture, possibly worse than going up against the Dark Lord. Neither my reputation nor my appearance will be of much assistance to you."

Hermione shrugged it off. "I faced down a mountain troll in my first year at Hogwarts and Voldemort in the seventh. Percy Weasley won't be a problem. You can take my word on that."

Lucius Malfoy smiled, feeling real hope for the first time in years. The long nightmare would end at last.


End file.
